His face was very slowly moving towards her. She knew what was going to happen next. She wanted him to do it, yet at the same time she felt suddenly frightened of him. His arm had slid along the top of the seat. Now his hand touched her left shoulder, turning her towards him. She jumped like a startled cat.
“What’s the matter?” His eyes were hooded, mysterious “Don’t you want me to touch you.”
She tried to smile at him warmly. “You know I do. I’ve been waiting for you to - to touch me for several days.” She shook her head. “I know it seems silly - but I find it ghostly and unworldly up here.”
He looked at her for several seconds, gazing into her face from only a few inches away. His eyes seemed so deep that she couldn’t make out what he was thinking. “OK,” he said, all of a sudden, “let’s go back to the sunshine. There’s nothing to see up here when the weather’s like this.” He pulled back and prepared to start the car.
“Richard,” she reached out and laid her hand on his arm, “thank you.”
“That’s all right.” He grinned at her. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away from me now that we are so close.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to get away from you. And Richard -“
“What’s that?”
“Let’s go back to my place. It will be very private there.” She smiled at him. “I will cook you a meal.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Of course I can. How do you think I live?”
“Well, that sounds like a very nice idea,” he said. He turned back to the controls, started the engine and put the gear lever into reverse.
* * * * * * * *
“I’ve asked you all to come in for half an hour so that we can review where we’ve reached at the end of our first week.” Charlotte was perched on the edge of her desk regarding them. “You can also have the opportunity to make any constructive comments you want about where we should go next. All right?” She looked round challengingly, but nobody responded.
Stafford Paulson stood back watching the others. John Prendergast and Bobbie Howell seemed full of enthusiasm for the new set-up. He noticed that even Greg Mallinson seemed unwilling to raise an objection at present. He admitted there seemed to be new sense of purpose which he welcomed at the same time as he slightly resented the fact that DCI Faraday was the cause of it.
“OK,” she continued, “I suggest we examine the circumstances surrounding the deaths of each of the five women and decide if there’s anything that justifies our continuing to look at each case. First is Stella Parsons. You’d better repeat what you told me, Bobbie.”
DC Howell looked rather nervous, but she started at once. “Yes. Well ma’am, I got in touch with Mr Parsons’ company and they told me he has moved back to Nottingham to be near his business interests. However they have recently taken over a company in Australia and he has been sent there to oversee its re-organization. He’ll be back in two weeks.” She looked at her apologetically. “You said to do nothing more at the moment, ma’am.”
“That’s right,” agreed Charlotte. She smiled. “There’s nothing at present to suggest that her death was due to anything other than misadventure, so unless anyone can come up with some fantastic theory that would justify flying out to Sydney, I think we’ll wait for him to get back before we interview him. Now Greg, what’s the latest on Mariella Prince?”
Paulson watched the fellow closely, but he seemed to have himself under control at the moment. “You know it all,” he said, “we picked up the wills for both Mariella Prince and her father this morning. I’ve spent the last couple of hours entering the answers to the questions the computer asked.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of printing out the follow-up questions,” volunteered Prendergast. “We’re able to answer a lot of those as well from the information on the wills.”
“Have you indeed?” Charlotte didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. She winked at Paulson. “It doesn’t take these youngsters long to start finding their way round a computer, does it, Stafford.”
Paulson said nothing. It made him feel old. Meanwhile John Prendergast was showing an enthusiasm which was likely to get him into trouble with Lasham if he was found out.
“I reckon we could use the computer for keeping close tabs on all the known rogues on our patch,” he said. “It would save us a hell of a lot of time when there’s a robbery or some other local crime. I reckon we could put our finger more or less straight away on the villain responsible. It would improve our clear-up rate no end.”
Charlotte grinned at his excitement. “If you can persuade the Chief Constable to buy you the equipment, I’ll come down and show you how to use it to keep a complete up-to-date picture of everything that’s going on in the district.” She smiled. “But I’m afraid that’s for the future. The point is, have you come up with any links between Mariella Prince and the other deaths?”
“No.” He shook his head almost sadly. “I think this one’s a dead end. There’s no suggestion that it’s either linked to the other deaths or the result of foul play.”
Paulson smiled grimly to himself when he thought how easily Faraday had converted this young chap to her cause - just by allowing him to play around with the computer.
“OK,” said Charlotte, “now we come to Julia Hillman. Now this is an interesting one. I already have grave doubts about the suicide verdict. It’s true that she had been very unhappy for several years before she died. However, in the last year or two, things had improved for her. There is a certain amount of evidence to suggest she may have been having an affair with someone. Her husband admits that their own marriage had more or less died and they were only staying together for the sake of appearances.”
She paused and took a breath. “There is no direct suspicion on Mr Hillman. He has a very strong alibi, and I think I believe him when he says he didn’t arrange her death. He hasn’t really got a sufficient motive. On the other hand there are some other interesting things about Lionel Hillman which need deeper investigation - not the least of which is the fact that he was an old friend of Cynthia’s former husband. He is also a trustee of the Henry Adams Trust and his accounts are done by Henry Adams’ old company, now run by son Giles. The two families obviously have a number of links and I want to work out over the weekend how we’re going to look further into those.” She looked at Paulson. “The other thing about Hillman is this - it seems to me that he was able to influence the inquest into his wife’s death in certain subtle ways. Do you think that’s likely, Stafford?”
The inspector looked out of the window and thought. Yes, he did know just how Lionel Hillman might have influenced the course of the inquest.
“Inspector Paulson?” she asked curtly, “can you help me please?”
Paulson swallowed and turned back to face her. “I can only give you a limited amount of information,” he said.
Faraday’s eyebrows shot up. “What on earth does that mean?”
“I - er - happen to know,” he said, “that, at the time of the inquest, Lionel Hillman was high up in a certain - er - fellowship. John Mears, the coroner, belonged to the same organisation.”
There was a sudden, complete silence round the room.
“What is this organisation?”
“I don’t think I can tell you any more than that.” Paulson wondered how much he dared to disclose. “But you can probably guess what I’m talking about.”
“And membership of this organisation would have given Hillman the chance of exerting an influence over the inquest, would it?” she asked.
The inspector shook his head. “Not influence - no. It would have given them the opportunity to discuss it privately.” He hurried on. “I don’t say they did discuss it, and I am quite sure that nothing illegal was arranged - that would be against the rules. However Lionel Hillman could have been advised of the best way to act at the hearing, so as to avoid unnecessary publicity. That’s all I can tell you.”
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br /> “I see.” Paulson saw Faraday was tight-lipped. She obviously realised she would get no more information from Stafford Paulson or from any of his seniors in the police force. In fact he wondered whether he had told her more than he should already.
“Very well,” she concluded, “I may have to go to Guernsey to interview the gentleman in question, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”
“Who’s that?” asked John Prendergast.
“John Mears, the coroner, retired there last year.” Was there a gloating tone in Greg Mallinson’s reply?
“That’s enough,” said Charlotte in a strained voice. “Next is Joanne de Billiere. Over to you, Stafford.”
“Yes - well.” Paulson was pleased to be off that particular hook. He took a deep breath and concentrated on his notes. “There are suggestions that our Joanne was a bit of a one for the gentlemen and that she may easily have been playing hostess to a ‘friend’, who she could have hidden down below, when she took the boat out on the night of her death. There’s also a discrepancy in times which makes the theory that she simply fell overboard a bit difficult to swallow. However no-one saw a man in a compromising position either before or after her death, so we’re guessing.” He pulled a face. “No record is kept of people entering and leaving the marina, but I suppose we could try to get a list of people likely to have been there in the few hours before Julia put to sea. We could interview and test them to see if they fit the DNA profile we found on Cynthia’s body. However there’s no apparent link yet between the two deaths. And in any case I expect most of the people on that list will have already been tested in our trawl over the last year.”
“I’ll think about that one,” said Charlotte, “and let you know on Monday. All right then. That leaves us with Cynthia Adams. Now, she was having family problems - she and her daughter-in-law didn’t get on and her son obviously felt he had to support the wife. It seems virtually certain that Cynthia was having an affair with some man in the last few weeks of her life - an affair which she was getting a lot of pleasure from. Nobody has yet been able to tell us who that man was and I think that will be the area for our main investigations next week. I need to think about the best way to direct those investigations. Now Stafford, can you tell us about the hotel end of things?”
He nodded. “Well, one of the receptionists has come up with the best sighting of the probable murderer that we’ve had so far - in fact, the only sighting. If she is right, it seems we’re looking for a bulky man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, with fair or gingery hair. That’s about all we’ve got.”
“Lionel Hillman?” asked Greg Mallinson.
Paulson shook his head. “Too old,” he said. “In any case, he was tested last year and came up negative.”
“Nevertheless, do you know where we can get a photo from to check with the girl?” Charlotte asked him.
“I expect the council will have something suitable,” said the inspector. “Leave that to me.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him for the first time. “To summarise then - I don’t think we need to waste any more time on Stella Parsons or Mariella Prince. It seems clear to me that we have found no links between their deaths and the other three.”
She took a breath. “As for Joanne de Billiere, we have not yet established a link with either Julia Hillman or Cynthia Adams. However there does seem to be something suspicious about her death. Therefore I don’t think we should exclude her from our investigations at this stage. The other two deaths are clearly the main target for further investigation. Any comments?”
The room stayed silent.
“OK,” she said, “I think we’ll call a halt at that. Perhaps you’d all think about it over the weekend and come to me with any bright ideas you might have on Monday, no matter how stupid they may sound. I’ll be in Exeter in the morning but I should be back after lunch. Thank you everyone.”
The meeting broke up and Charlotte turned back to her computer to carry on with its huge range of questions and answers. Paulson noticed that she resolutely said nothing more about the coroner.
* * * * * * * *
Susannah finished stacking the dirty plates into the dish-washer and went back into the dining room. Through the open patio doors she noticed that Richard had gone out onto the terrace to watch the sunset, his brandy glass in his hand. She went out to join him and linked her arm through his.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she asked.
“You have a fantastic house, Susannah. The only surprise is that your husband is so seldom here to share it with you. If I was him, I wouldn’t want to tear myself away from either delight.”
She didn’t reply, but leaned her head against his shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his flesh through the thin cotton shirt. With one hand she absent-mindedly smoothed the layer of soft hair which covered his fore-arm.
“You can watch this beautiful sight every evening?”
“Weather allowing.”
The sun had almost disappeared behind the high moors where they had been earlier in the day. There was no longer any sign of the low clouds and mist which had shrouded the moors at that time. Now they could even make out the clearly incised shapes of some of the rocky tors against the flaming orange of the sky.
As the last of the sun dipped below the horizon he turned to her. “Thank you for inviting me to see it.”
“I wanted you to come,” she said. “I wanted to say thank you for another beautiful day, a beautiful week, the most beautiful week I can remember.”
He smiled. “I enjoyed it every bit as much as you. This area is delightful But it’s so much better when you can share it.”
“And I’m sorry,” she said, “for turning chicken up on the moor this afternoon.”
“Don’t apologise,” he replied quietly, “here it is so much better.”
She felt the longing seep through her body as he looked into her eyes. She felt like a teenager again, aching for him to touch her. The next moment he had taken her into his arms and they were kissing. It felt as though a dam had burst. Her pent-up emotions got the better of her. She was gasping with the excitement of it, longing for him to do more to her.
Suddenly he lifted her off her feet. He seemed so young and strong. In one mad charge he carried her off the terrace, through the dining room and into the sitting room. He laid her down upon the settee and started to unbutton his shirt.
“Before you do that,” she said, “shouldn’t you ring your hotel first and tell them you won’t be going back there tonight?”
“Do you mean that?”
“And while you’re phoning I’ll be getting ready in the bedroom.” She smiled. “It’s the first on the right at the top of the stairs.”
She was already unzipping her dress as she went back into the dining room to make sure the patio doors were closed and locked.
- 7. Saturday Morning -
Susannah woke in the early dawn. She was lying on her back. Richard was on his side facing her, with an arm stretched across her in proprietorial fashion. She looked at his sleeping face. His dark hair had flattened over his forehead, reaching almost to his eyebrow in one place. He looked dark and mysterious and exciting.
She had been astonished and delighted last night by his passionate worshipping of her body and even more by her own excited response to the way he handled her. He had made her feel young again. He had brought her to her first orgasm in more than twenty years. And during the tempestuous night she had experienced another two after that. Twice they had fallen asleep, inter-twined, exhausted she had thought by their love-making. Yet each time he had awoken her after a rest and they had repeated the experience. It was quite remarkable, she thought, how someone as old as she was, could still get such over-flowing pleasure out of doing something which was supposed to be the preserve of the young. In fact, she was almost sure the pleasure was greater now than it had been in her youth.
So she lay and luxuriated in the simple experience of sharing a bed with a wa
rm-blooded man - the cosiness and comfort of it, the sheer pleasure of thinking of the day ahead with nothing which they had to do, except continue to make love together whenever the urge took them, and then another night doing the same. And now there was the whole of next week. Richard said he needed to go to London on Monday for a meeting but he would return in the evening. At this moment their affair seemed to stretch ahead for ever.
What would they do today? They would probably make love again before they got up. Richard seemed to have a gratifyingly large appetite for her body. Then they could share a bath together in the jacuzzi in the main bathroom. After that she would cook him a big breakfast - something to restore the energy he had expended during the night.
Where would they go after that? Perhaps they would stay here and stretch out on the terrace or take a dip in the open-air pool if the water was warm enough. After all, their touring could be done during the week, when she could hardly entertain Richard at home - not if Mrs Harding was coming in every day.
Suddenly she had a brilliant idea. Why didn’t she tell Mrs Harding she didn’t need her next week? She could ring the woman up and say she had decided to go and visit some friends. Then Richard could stay every night for the whole week. Perhaps she would discuss it with him and see what he thought.
She raised a hand and stroked his wavy hair, tough and springy. He stirred and nuzzled against her. Then his eyes suddenly sprang open and they were looking into hers.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“What’s the time?”
“Oh, it’s early. It’s not six o’clock yet.” She turned against his naked torso. “We’re not in a hurry are we?”
His free hand began to ramble over her body. First it encountered the long silk night-dress which had been pushed up above her waist. Then it reached her bare flesh. She felt her nerve-ends begin to tingle again as it slid towards her crutch. She arched her back with a little cry and abandoned herself to him again.
Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective Page 18